


Seizures of the Heart

by blue_eyed



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Infidelity, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 16:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_eyed/pseuds/blue_eyed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He watched Lestrade, watched the way his hand moved without the ring – it was still awkward, like he was getting used to his hand without the weight of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seizures of the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://holmestice.livejournal.com/profile)[**holmestice**](http://holmestice.livejournal.com/) I have no idea where this came from. So many thanks to [](http://stupidmuse-hate.livejournal.com/profile)[**stupidmuse_hate**](http://stupidmuse-hate.livejournal.com/) for the handholding, distraction, beta reading, and generally being an awesome person, and to [](http://ktbean.livejournal.com/profile)[**ktbean**](http://ktbean.livejournal.com/) for fixing my tenses, my clumsy sentences, and being a brilliant beta. Happy Holmestice! Title from Dan le Sac vs Scroobius pip's song, Look for the Woman.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Non-explicit emotional infidelity  
> 

Lestrade often found himself thinking of Mycroft. It was understandable. He was connected to Sherlock in Lestrade's head, and Sherlock occupied a lot of Lestrade's time. Far too much of it, in some people's opinion.

To be fair, Mycroft had been stalking his crime scenes (Lestrade was convinced it was a Holmes genetic trait), watching them from his not at all subtle black car. He'd professed to be worried about Sherlock, which, yeah, Lestrade was pretty worried about him without any history, any relation. He'd be up nights if Sherlock was his little brother.

So Lestrade tolerated him, mostly. Eventually he had to go over to wherever the car was lingering and tell the man to leave, he was making the officers jumpy. Mycroft just laughed and acquiesced, pressed a card into his hand, and then went on his way.

Lestrade looked down on the card, it had two phone numbers written on it and the words Just in case written in neat flowing script. He pocketed it.

That night he ended up picking up a book, losing himself for a couple of hundred pages. When he'd read his fill he cast around for something to use as a bookmark – a tube ticket, a receipt – his pockets were usually good for something. Instead he pulled out the card Mycroft gave him. He shrugged, and shoved it into the page. At least it wouldn't end up in the wash there.

~~~  
"Greg?"

"In the kitchen," Lestrade called back, stirring the soup that was bubbling away on the hob. He turned as his wife walked in. Marie was already barefoot and pulling off the suit jacket she was wearing, draping it over the back of a chair.

"Something smells nice."

"I got off early, thought I'd cook for a change. It's only tomato and bacon." Lestrade turned back to add the mushrooms, "How was the meeting?"

"My agent is still wrangling the details, but it looks good."

"That's fantastic," Lestrade moved away from the the stove and wrapped his arms around her. "Am I going to be a kept man if the contract comes though?"

"I don't think authors earn that much money, dear. But I'll certainly make sure you can buy yourself something pretty every now and again."

~~~  
Lestrade was summoned to the boss' office. His latest case was a delicate one – a foreign dignitary's missing jewellery, a dead hotel cleaner – and he was expecting a lecture on the necessity of discretion.

He walked into the office and stopped dead. Mycroft was sitting in one of the guest chairs, ever present umbrella propped against the desk.The Super stood up, and gestured to the empty chair.

"Lestrade, have a seat."

"Thank you." Lestrade took a seat in front of the cheap wood desk.

"Greg," Lestrade snapped to attention – the Super was only friendly with people when he wanted to impress someone. "this is Mycroft Holmes. Mr. Holmes, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade, one of our best." Definitely wants to impress Mycroft, then, Lestrade noted. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you that the government is very interested in clearing this case up as quickly and quietly as possible."

"Of course, sir."

"To this end, they are willing to give us more help if needed." He gestured to Mycroft. "Mr. Holmes here is -" The Super faltered.

"I'm just a civil servant," Mycroft said, smiling.

"Yes, well. He will be involved – you will report to Mr. Holmes as well as to me."

Lestrade nodded. "I expect you to be as co-operative as possible, Lestrade. This is a make or break case." Read: Don't fuck up, or you'll be out on your ear. Lestrade nodded again, sighing inwardly.

"Of course, sir."

"Excellent! I'll let you to get on with it, then, shall I?"

After a round of shaking hands, Mycroft and Lestrade left the office.

"A civil servant?"

"A minor role."

Lestrade was sceptical. "A minor role that had my Super jumping like a cat on a hot tin roof?"

Mycroft just smiled enigmatically. "Fine, keep your secrets. My office? I can let you know what we've got. Although I imagine you know more than me." Lestrade shrugged, squashing the sudden intrigue about Mycroft's job.

"I'd still like to hear it from you."

"Do you want a coffee?" Lestrade paused outside the small staff kitchen.

"Could I have a tea? No sugar, drop of milk."

"Of course. Do you want to head on to my office? The door right at the end of the room."

"Very well."

Lestrade walked into his office, balancing two mugs of tea and a packet of digestive biscuits in his hands.

Mycroft was standing behind his desk, with a photo frame in his hand. Lestrade knew it was of him and Marie, standing in front of the Colosseum, squinting at the sunlight.

"Wife?"

"Yeah," Lestrade replied, busying himself with the mugs and the file. Mycroft nodded and placed the photo back down, face unreadable. "Help yourself to biscuits."

"Oh, no, thank you." Mycroft replied, moving past Lestrade to take a seat.

"The details at the moment are pretty normal, we're still waiting on forensics from most of the scene."

"Walk me through what you've got so far." Mycroft leant forward, examining the photos.

~~~  
 _I think we've got something_

Mycroft picked up his phone and sent off a quick reply – this conference call would last at least another hour.

 _What kind of lead? Can't get away for another two hours_

Mycroft was still half listening to the arguments going on in the call. Nothing he needed to weigh in on yet.

 _A name. Got enough for questioning, paperwork going through. Got specific questions?_

Mycroft sighed. He wished he'd be able to observe the questioning, but it was out of the question.

 _Get to a computer, I'll email you. Easier than texting it all_

Mycroft opened his netbook and started to type, mindful of the need to be as quiet as possible.

Two hours later, Mycroft made his way to the Yard, eager to find out what the suspect had said.

"So?"

"Hello to you too, Mycroft." Lestrade raised his eyebrows. Mycroft rolled his eyes, a movement that sharply reminded Lestrade of Sherlock.

"Yes, hello, of course."

"I've got the recording of the interview. Shall I play it?"

"Please," Mycroft replied, sitting down at the desk. Lestrade played the recording, and sat back, quietly watching the other man. When it was finished he picked up his notepad.

"I've got some notes – some stuff that doesn't add up."

"Let me see it," Mycroft read over Lestrade's notes and Lestrade waited, feeling a little bit like he was back in school, waiting anxiously for a teacher to give him his marks. "Well, it's certainly a start, but I think I can add more to it. Play it again." Lestrade felt himself smile, feeling relieved that he hadn't been found wanting.

They then spent a good hour replaying different parts, building up another list of questions, the beginnings of a case against the suspect. Lestrade was used to feeling awestruck around Sherlock, or at of the loop at the very least. With Mycroft it was different, he was willing to slow things down a bit. More importantly Mycroft was willing to listen to him, to consider his suggestions and ideas. It was nice.

Eventually, Lestrade stood up, stretching out his complaining back.

"Ok, I'm going to need a break."

Mycroft sighed and sat back, resting his head against the back of the chair.

"Very well."

"Don't know about you, but I could do with something to eat."

Mycroft nodded. "Where do you normally get food from?"

"There's a sandwich shop down the road, family run, they do some pretty good stuff."

"Sounds good," Mycroft groaned as he stood up, and grabbed his coat. "lead the way, Inspector."

"Call me Greg." Lestrade said as he shrugged on his coat.

"Very well, Greg." Mycroft said, voice low and intimate.

~~~  
Marie was ecstatic. She hadn't stayed still since hearing the news, dancing around the house like a woman possessed. She wanted to tell the whole world – she was an author now! A proper, very soon-to-be-published author. She dithered between telling the girls, her brother, Greg.

She stopped for a minute. She probably should've thought of Greg first. She shook her head – she was all over the place. She looked at the time. Greg should be in his office – he said he was only doing paperwork today – she'd get them lunch, go and surprise him with the good news.

Satisfied with her plan of action she gathered her coat and handbag and left the house.

~~~  
Marie finally decided on some posh coffee, sandwiches, and muffins. They could go out for a proper meal at the weekend.

She made her way into the Yard, managing to wrangle her way past reception. She nodded at various sergeants she recognises in the office, and stopped to say hi to Sally, who always made an effort to talk to her.

"Lestrade's in his office with a Government bigwig." Sally made a face. Marie felt her eagerness to share her news with her husband dampening.

"That bad?"

"Not terrible, but still, very important and knows it."

"Maybe I should come back..." Marie bit her lip. Through the windows Marie could see Greg laugh at something the other person had said.

"No, go. He needs to eat something." Before Marie could protest, Sally was ushering her to the office, ignoring the rest of her token protests.

She knocked on the door, and then pushed it open. Lestrade looked up from his conversation with the man, eyes warm and laughing. Marie froze at how happy he looked. She hadn't realised how long it'd been since she'd seen that look.

"Marie, I wasn't expecting to see you." Greg smiled at her, and stood up. "What brings you here?"

"Oh, um." She shook herself slightly, clearing her head. "My contract came through! Three book deal, first one published in the next year. Just need to wrangle with my editor."

"That's fantastic!" Lestrade exclaimed, hugging her tightly.

"I brought us lunch." She blurted, pulling away from Greg, awkward in the presence of the unknown man. "I'm really sorry, I only brought enough for two."

"Oh, don't worry about it." The other man said, smiling. He was about their age, thinning hair, an air of...sophistication about him.

"Oh, of course. Marie, this is Mycroft Holmes, he's helping us out on a case. Mycroft, this is Marie, my wife."

"Lovely to meet you, and congratulations on your contract." Mycroft stood up, and shook her hand. It was nice and firm, a powerful handshake, but not painful. "I shall leave you two to it, shall I?"

"Oh, but what about-" Greg started to protest, hand reaching out to grab the man's arm.

"I think this is a good place to leave it for today, Greg. I'll be back tomorrow." Marie looked between the two men, feeling like she wasn't there.

"Alright, see you."

"Goodbye. Enjoy your lunch."

"Thanks," Marie said quietly. She waited for the door to shut. "I'm sorry for interrupting your work."

"Don't worry about it, your news is important!" Lestrade hugged her again, kissing her chastely. "Let's see what you've brought us then."  
~~~  
 _Suspect and wife in for questioning. You still heading over?_

 _I'll be there shortly_

The car pulled up outside the Yard and Mycroft got out, striding into the building. He made his way towards the interview rooms. Lestrade was outside the room, looking over a file.

"Hi. You want to sit in on the interview?"

"No, I'll watch out here. I don't want to tread on any toes."

Lestrade shrugged.

"You're going to knock and let me know if there's a line of questioning you want me to follow?"

"I don't think that will be necessary. I have faith in your abilities."

"Right, thanks." Lestrade muttered, before turning and walking into the interview room. Mycroft walked to the two way glass.

Lestrade handled the questioning perfectly. They come up with the questions together – a reaffirmation of what was said in previous interviews first, followed by introducing more pieces of evidence as they went along. Mycroft spent the first few minutes simply watching Lestrade.

The man was the picture of professionalism, his voice clear and strong as he spoke to the suspect. He treated the man with detached respect, not letting on that he was convinced the man had murdered the hotel cleaner.

When the line of questioning got to the interesting part, Mycroft actually listened. The man was defensive, clearly off-balance. Mycroft was convinced the suspect would make a mistake soon.

~~~  
After the interview, they went out for lunch. The suspect had made a mistake, implicating a second person in the crime. More paperwork beckoned, so Lestrade wanted to get food before he got lost in the multiple forms he'd have to fill out.

The sandwich shop was becoming a regular venue for them for lunch or coffee.

They had almost finished, lingering over their coffee. Mycroft recounted a tale from his university days – a surprising prank involving the university's statue and streaking. Lestrade gurgled a laugh, putting a hand over his mouth and nose to stop coffee from being snorted everywhere.

Mycroft smiled and watched him with a look that could only be described as fondness, and Lestrade realised with a jolt that they were flirting. Something on his face must've given him away (he was sitting opposite a Holmes, of course he'd given himself away) and Mycroft pulled back, the politician's mask falling back into place.

"No, wait." Lestrade blurted.

"I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable."

"Its just, I'm married. I shouldn't be doing this."

"Of course. I'm sorry." Mycroft stood up and practically fled from the cafe. Lestrade didn't even have the chance to stand up himself. He buried his head in his hands.

~~~  
Mycroft sunk gratefully into the lush seats of the Diogenes club. He hadn't been there for a while and had missed the peace that only the solitude and silence of his club could provide.

It was only after he'd found himself a private room and poured himself a brandy did he allow himself to think about Lestrade. He'd neatly compartmentalized the man to be thought about at a later date, and now he had the necessary time and surroundings to do so.

The man intrigued him, certainly. Lestrade was an intelligent man – not on the same scale as himself or Sherlock, obviously – but relatively intelligent. There was also his efforts to rid Sherlock of his various addictions, most of which had been more successful than his own.

Mycroft didn't often pursue relationships. Occasionally it was necessary, to keep up appearances, or to further his own interests, and his assistant often became his wife or lover if needed, but very rarely actual relationships.

Finding someone who was willing to put up with the necessary secrets Mycroft had to keep, as well as the overseas trips and frankly insane working hours was...difficult. And that's before attraction was factored in.

Lestrade met the attraction criteria, and his experience in handling Sherlock certainly wouldn't harm his chances of handling Mycroft's job.

Mycroft turned his mind back to the conversation between them. It was rare for Mycroft to let his emotions get the better of him. It was foolish – there was no evidence that Lestrade returned his feelings, and even if he did, Lestrade was married. And while their marriage was evidently not a blissful one, it wasn't broken either. One of Lestrade's more attractive qualities was his loyalty, it would be a cruel sort of irony if Mycroft even considered trying for an affair with the man.

Mycroft drained his glass and sighed inwardly. It was a pointless and indulgent train of thought and he would not dwell anymore. He couldn't afford to have his mind addled by his heart, not with the Australian elections coming up.

~~~  
Lestrade walked into the kitchen and dumped his keys onto the table. There was a note on the table;

 _Gone to Deb's, be back later. Food in the fridge for you. Marie x_

Lestrade sighed and crumpled the note up, dropping it into the bin on the way past. He felt slightly guilty that he was glad of the peace and solitude, but he needed some time to sort out his head.

He microwaved the lasagne and ate it on the sofa, blindly watching Top Gear re-runs on the telly. He kept repaying the conversation with Mycroft in his head. He shook his head and tried to sort his whirling thoughts.

Mycroft has feelings for him.  
Mycroft had not wanted Lestrade to find out about his feelings.  
He was married.  
He didn't want to lose the friendship they had.  
And if he was being really honest with himself:

He probably would be attracted to Mycroft, if he let himself think that way. If he wasn't married.

And that was that, really, wasn't it? He not only wanted to remain friends with someone who was romantically interested in him, but with someone he could be romantically interested in. And that was a bit of a shit thing to do.

Lestrade groaned and slumped down on the sofa.

He must have fallen asleep, as he jumped awake when he heard the front door shut.

"Oh, did I wake you?" Marie walked into the living room and then through into the kitchen.

"Probably for the best, if I slept here I'd be stuck here." Lestrade croaked, rubbing his eyes.

"And you'd be grumpy." Marie pointed out. "Tea?"

"Please." Lestrade stood up and stretched, and plodded into the kitchen. He watched his wife potter around the kitchen, putting teabags in mugs. He firmly squashed his twinges of guilt. "How's Deb?"

"Oh, good. Split a bottle of wine, watched a dvd." Marie handed the mug over. "How was work?"

"The usual." Lestrade shrugged. "Got a mountain of paperwork to do tomorrow."

She scrunched up her nose in response.

"I'm going to go have a read in bed, don't stay up too long." She said, giving Lestrade a quick peck as he moved past. "Night."

"Night."

~~~  
It was a dreary morning, slate grey, heavy with rain. Lestrade woke up angry, a seething, wretched kind of angry that had him locked himself up inside his office for a few hours, burning it out by signing forms and typing very loudly.

"Knock knock." Donovan peered around the door. "I did a Costa run, got you a decent coffee."

"You are brilliant, Sally." Lestrade smiled, anger dissipating in a waft of caffeine.

"You're welcome."

"How's it going?" Sally perched on the edge of his desk, careful not to dislodge anything.

"Slowly, but its my own fault for letting it get so bad."

"Death by a thousand paper cuts?"

"Something like that, yeah." Lestrade took a sip of his coffee. "What's it like out there?"

"Oh, you know. Normal, boring. You think we'd be grateful for times like this."

Lestrade snorted. "Are we ever happy?"

"As long as we've got something to moan about, yeah." Sally drained her cup and stood up. "Let me know if you need a hand with any of this." She nodded at his vague 'to do' pile.

"Cheers."

She smiled and left, shutting the door behind her.  
~~~

"We should go out."

"Pardon?" Marie looked up from her laptop.

"We never did go out to celebrate your contract," Lestrade felt a tinge of guilt, it was his fault they didn't get out, work got in the way. "How about this weekend?"

"Sounds good. Any ideas where?"

"Didn't Deb say that Italian place was good?"

"Yeah, her and Phil went there for their last anniversary."

"I'll make reservations for Saturday evening then."

~~~  
Saturday rolled around. Lestrade pulled out a nice suit – he hadn't worn it in years. His fingers fumbled with the cufflinks. He was nervous, but hopeful that this night would finally help him get Mycroft out of his system.

Marie picked up a pair of earrings. Greg had brought them for their first anniversary, the first piece of jewellery he'd brought her. The fact that she wearing these on a night she was hoping to re-ignite some of their passion, their love was not lost on her.

They got to the restaurant and were quickly seated. The restaurant was dim, soft, intimate red lighting and lush furnishings. Lestrade felt unbelievably uncomfortable. Once they had been seated, they picked up a menu.

"I feel like an alarm's about to go off: unclean! Peasants!" Marie whispered across the table. Lestrade snorted a laugh. "Ok, so. At least they've got translations."

"Yeah." Greg said, frowning at the menu. After a few minutes deliberation he decided on risotto alla milanese. Marie ordered the Spaghetti alla puttanesca.

Their food arrived, beautifully presented. Marie could smell the garlic and chilli.

"This is wonderful, try some." Marie held out a forkful of food. Greg steadied it with his hand and ate the food, chewing thoughtfully.

"That is good. I'm not sure you'd like mine, you want a try?"

Marie nodded anyway, and took a forkful. She made a face at the odd mixture of saffron with the aftertaste of her own food.

She took a gulp of her wine to wash the taste away. It was going straight to her head, making everything fuzzy around the edges.

They left the restaurant a while later, heads light from wine richer than they were used too. It had loosened their tongues and conversation flowed – a sharp contrast to some of the awkwardness earlier in the evening.

"I love you." Greg declared, pulling her into his arms.

"Really?"

"Of course, my almost-famous author wife." Lestrade said, laughing into her hair.

"I love you, too, my not famous detective husband." She said, the words heavy on her tongue.

~~~  
Eventually the case was finished – a husband and wife team who had been linked to similar crimes of less notoriety – had been arrested, all the paperwork had been sent off, all their work was done. It was a cause for celebration in the office, the room was hijacked for the evening; someone ordered pizza, others did a beer run and desks were manoeuvred to make an open space.

He sent a quick text to Marie, apologising again for the late night, but promising dinner out at the weekend to make up for it. Marie was more than used to his long and unpredictable hours, but he still felt he should let her know what was going on as much as he could.

"Thank fuck that's over." Anderson declared, saluting with his bottle. There were murmurs of agreement from the rest of the team. They laughed and talked and fought over slices of pizza. Lestrade felt the tension of the last few weeks drop from his shoulders. Working with a government official over his shoulder hadn't been as terrible as he thought it was going to be – and Mycroft was much better at being social than Sherlock, but he was still glad the case had been solved successfully.

Eventually, one by one, people left, wanting to sleep, to see their families, to get away for longer than the 3 hours at a time that had been the norm over the past few weeks. Lestrade waved away offers to help him clear up.

"I'm only disposing of the food and leftover beer," He smirked. "I'm leaving the desks till tomorrow morning."

His colleagues laughed and left him to it. He dutifully put the leftovers in the communal fridge – apart from the last two bottles of Carling, they went into his bag.

Lestrade took one last look around and locked up behind him. He gasped as he left the building the cold air stinging his face and chasing away the warm sluggish feeling of the alcohol he'd consumed.

He started to walk towards the tube station, stumbling slightly as his legs remembered how to work again.

A car slowly drew up to the pavement next to him.

"Would you like a lift, Greg?"

"It is quite cold." Lestrade replied, wincing. He wasn't drunk but he was at that awkward stage of tipsy. He could think but his mouth to brain filter was a bit off.

"Yes, it is," Mycroft laughed. He pushed open the door and slid along the seat. "Get in."

Lestrade didn't ask how the driver knew where to go. It was probably for the best.

"I wanted to offer my congratulations on solving the case."

"Couldn't have done it without your help." Lestrade paused, trying to get his head to stop spinning. "We make a good team."

"We do. I can see why Sherlock chooses to work with you."

"He really doesn't work with me. I'm just a way of getting cases."

"I sincerely doubt that's the case, Greg."

Lestrade looked at Mycroft.

"You're a lot nicer than your brother. It's confusing."

"I'll...take that as a compliment."

Lestrade nodded, feeling himself blush, and clamped his mouth shut. Mycroft just looked amused.

"Here's your stop."

"Thanks. Sorry for the-"

"There's no need to apologise. Sleep well, Greg."

"And you."

Lestrade stumbled out of the car, and fumbled his key into the lock. Marie was waiting for him in the living room.

"You didn't have to wait up, love."

"I wanted too." Marie stood up from the sofa. "Tea?"

"Please," Lestrade took her place on the sofa, and closed his eyes, tiredness tolling over him.

"You got a lift back then?" Marie called from the kitchen. Lestrade forced himself to respond, sleep making his tongue thick and awkward.

"Yeah, Mycroft was in the area."

"Oh, right. That was nice of him."

"He's a nice bloke." Lestrade mumbled in response, before sleep took him.

~~~  
"I'd like to move out."

"Pardon?" Lestrade sat down on the sofa with a thump.

"I think. I'd like to move out. I'm not, it's not you. I just. I need to."

"I'm sorry." It's the only thing he could think of saying.

"Me too. I. It's not a – huge shock, though. Is it?"

He let out a long breath.

"No. Not really."

"I don't want to hurt you. But. I need to do this."

"We're friends." He blurted, finally meeting her eyes. They were blurry with tears. He reached out and grabbed her hand.

"We are. But not-"

"No." Lestrade swallowed around the lump in his throat, his own vision filling with tears. "Not like that. Not for a long time."

"No. And then there's that Mycroft bloke."

Lestrade's heart stopped for a moment.

"Don't. I know, I know you, Greg."

"I've never – we didn't."

"I know, I know you would never, but it doesn't change the fact that you do have feelings for him. It seems pointless continuing this relationship. I deserve better, we both do."

Lestrade ran his hand through his hair, feeling like the bottom had fallen out of his stomach.

"Where will you go?"

"I'll go to Deb's for a few days. I've got some viewings lined up. Flats mostly."

"You've been planning this for a while."

"A month, maybe." Marie shrugged. "Idle thoughts, mostly, woolgathering. Then I started googling." She sniffled a bit. "It really isn't you. I just. Don't want to end up like my own parents, stuck in a marriage because they've never had the gumption to try and change. I wanted something more."

"You always did want more." Lestrade had a flashback to a young blonde woman sitting opposite him, of being starstruck by her passion and her determination, and wondering at what she saw in a beat copper like him. He looked at her now, older but still as determined, still as stubborn.

"I can't give you that, not anymore." Lestrade said flatly. It wasn't heartbreaking, but it hurt. Hurt to know that he couldn't give his wife everything she wanted. They had grown apart over the years, and now Mycroft...

"So we'll get a divorce."

"I guess, yeah. I hadn't thought of that. I can look into the paperwork." Marie took another deep breath, more tears making tracks down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry."

"I'll be fine. You always were searching for more." Lestrade wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She whispered, looking like her heart was breaking. Lestrade got up and pulled her into a hug. They cried together.

~~~  
He moved out too. The house was too big, too empty, too everything for him, so they sold the house, split the money. He found a flat, small but functional.

They vowed to keep in touch but it was awkward. Lestrade was too uncomfortable going back to just friends, even though arguably that's what they had been for the last few years. Everything felt too intimate.

~~~  
Mycroft kept one eye on the CCTV footage as he typed his emails. He watched Sherlock dart around the latest crime scene like a puppy investigating a new park. He watched John and Detective Inspector Lestrade as they stand together out of Sherlock's way, clearly talking about him.

He watched as Sherlock swept back to the two men, exclaiming things in a flurry of gestures. He then walked past them and John shrugged and followed, helpless in Sherlock's wake. He watched as Lestrade shook his head and reclaimed his crime scene, organising his team effortlessly.

Mycroft watched all of this and still could not put a finger on exactly what had changed about the Detective Inspector. They hadn't spoken since, and he'd only seen Lestrade through a CCTV camera.

It wasn't until Lestrade started rubbing his hands, cupping his left hand in his right that Mycroft realised what was wrong. Lestrade was no longer wearing his wedding ring. As if he could feel Mycroft's eyes on him, Lestrade stopped and shoved his hands deep in his pockets, despite the warmth of the day.

Interesting, Mycroft thought.

~~~  
The next time Mycroft saw Lestrade it was in person, and completely by accident. Mycroft was sitting in 221b, watching Sherlock and John's interactions with amusement. John had broken a rib during a case, and was currently laid up on the sofa. Sherlock was caring for him, currently making tea. Mycroft wasn't sure Sherlock had ever made tea before.

Mycroft amended his assessment of John; he was very good for his brother.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs alerted Mycroft to the face that there was a visitor fast approaching. Definitely a man, most likely middle aged, working class, played rugby on the weekends.

"Come in, Lestrade." Sherlock called out before there was even a knock on the door. Lestrade walked in, a plate of biscuits in his hand.

"Lestrade, you shouldn't have." John remarked, smirking.

"Oh, I see you're feeling better." Lestrade replied, setting the plate down on the coffee table. He nodded to Mycroft. Mycroft smiled back, hoping it didn't look as strained as it felt. "Mrs. Hudson insisted I brought them up. I thought I'd never get away."

"She think's you're a lovely young man," John said, slowly levering himself into a vertical position. Lestrade snorted, but Mycroft could see a hint of a blush on his cheeks. "You want a cuppa? Sherlock's making."

"Are you sure he didn't hit his head? Yeah, I'll stay."

"Tea for Lestrade, too." John called into the kitchen.

"Strong, milk, no sugar." Lestrade added, laughing quietly at Sherlock's snort of disdain.

"So how're things at the Yard?"

"Same old. Everyone sends their love."

"Really?"

"Well. Sort of. They're very eager for you to get back on your feet."

"My brother is probably intolerable without you, John."

"Yeah, pretty much. I think we'd all forgotten what he was like." Lestrade said, not really looking at Mycroft. If John noticed how careful Lestrade was being around Mycroft, he certainly didn't show it. Mycroft stayed quiet throughout the exchange.

He watched Lestrade, watched the way his hand moved without the ring – it was still awkward, like he was getting used to his hand without the weight of it. His eyes were heavy and had black smudges underneath.

Mycroft added the knowledge to the part of his brain that spent far too much time occupied by Lestrade. When he stood to leave the flat, Lestrade also stood up, claiming he needed to get back to work.

They made their way out of the building in silence.

"Listen, Mycroft. I'll see you around, yeah?"

"I'd like that." Mycroft shook Greg's hand, and got into the car that was idling by the curb. The ball was in Lestrade's court now.

~~~  
Lestrade was passing Waterstone's when he saw it, the small advertising board that proclaimed: Slow Slow, by Marie Finkle, get your copy signed by the author today! 5-7:30pm. Lestrade looked at his watch, it was ten to five now. He was only heading home, and he wanted to congratulate her. She'd been working for years to get published. He walked in before he could change his mind. He found the pile quickly enough and went and paid for it. The next several minutes were spent wandering the aisles, picking up the odd book that had an interesting title.

Eventually a man with a surprisingly loud voice introduced Marie, who smiled for the publicity shots. Lestrade lingered at the back of the crowd, not wanting to be a distraction. He dutifully waited at the back of the queue.

When it came to his turn, Marie looked up and froze.

"Hi," Lestrade said, starting to wonder if this was a good idea.

"Greg..."

"I just wanted to congratulate you. You deserve this." Lestrade smiled. She watched him for a minute, trying to read his intentions, then she smiled up at him, happy and open.

"I. Thank you." She opened the book at signed it with a flourish. "Greg. Are you happy?"

Lestrade looks down at her, and thinks. "Yes," He says, swallowing thickly. "Yes, I am."

"Good. I'm glad."

Someone coughed behind Lestrade and he jumped, suddenly remembering the queue of people behind him.

"Look, I'll let you get on with work. It was good seeing you."

"You too."

Lestrade walked out of the shop, book in hand, feeling lighter than he had in ages. He dug his phone out of his pocket.

 _I was wondering if you fancied getting some lunch with me?_

Lestrade sent it to Mycroft before he could reconsider. Less than a minute later his phone started ringing. Lestrade's heart started thumping when he read Mycroft's name on the screen.

"Hello?"

"I prefer to talk, whenever possible."

"...ok?"

"I just thought it was something you should know, if we're to continue this relationship."

"Oh, well, I'll keep that in mind." Lestrade couldn't help smiling broadly. "Does that mean you'll be meeting me for lunch?"

"A car will be with you shortly."


End file.
